


Some Boys Romance, Some Boys Slow Dance

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: Henry complains about the cost of a royal tour, and Lizzie shows him sometimes things that are expensive... are hotter. (I'm sorry*)*I'm not.





	Some Boys Romance, Some Boys Slow Dance

“This is costing us a bloody fortune.”

Lizzie doesn’t bother looking up from the desk where she’s writing a letter to her cousin Maggie. She’d known from the minute Henry sat down on the suite’s sofa to go over their most recent hotel bill that she was bound to hear a complaint or twelve, so she’s been preparing for this statement for the past quarter of an hour.

“It’s a royal tour, not a family holiday,” she answers mildly, signing her letter to Maggie with a flourish.

From behind her, she hears Henry sigh. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Elizabeth.

_ Elizabeth _ , not Lizzie. He must be well and truly hacked off, then, and Lizzie turns to look over her shoulder at him, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s part of it, Henry,” she tells him. “And people expect it. When they come to see their monarch, they want a certain amount of grandeur. The finest hotels, beautiful wardrobes, expensive cars….they’re here for King Henry and Queen Elizabeth, not Hank and Beth Tudor.”

That at least earns her a slight quirking of his lips too sardonic to be called a smile, but at least not a scowl. She considers it an improvement, and turns back to her correspondence. There are still three more letter she wants to write this morning before she actually begins the business of getting ready for the day, and she didn’t budget in time to cajole Henry out of one of his moods.

But then he adds, “Good that you’ve already thought of aliases for us when our subjects stage a quite frankly justified coup.”

Rolling her eyes, Lizzie snatches a fresh piece of rose-imprinted stationery from the box. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Do you know how much your mother has racked up in room service alone?” he asks her, and Lizze can hear him rattling a piece of paper. “I’d wager it’s the gross national product of some small country.”

“She’s feeding herself and my sisters,” Lizzie reminds him, and Henry snorts.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s Bridget and Catherine who’ve developed such a taste for Bollinger. Quite the hit among the primary school set, no doubt.”

Setting her pen down, Lizzie rises from the escritoire. It’s clear that words are not going to be enough to pull Henry from this particular train of thought, and she always was a woman of action.

Crossing the carpet on stockinged feet, she goes to stand in front of him where he sits on the sofa. Henry only registers her presence when she’s inches from him, his head shooting up and blues eyes widening slightly. She’s still in her robe, hair loose and face bare, and she doesn’t miss the way Henry’s gaze lowers to her fingers as they fiddle with the knot holding her silk dressing gown closed.

“It costs money, being royal,” she says softly, and then the belt is undone, the robe sagging open.

Keeping her eyes on him, Lizzie pushes the dressing gown from her shoulders, standing before him in the complicated lingerie she’d put on after her bath. Bra, knickers, garter belt, stockings, all in the finest lace and silk, all the same soft rose shade, all so sheer she’s covered and bared at once.

“For instance, all of this cost more than a night in this very lovely suite. But wouldn’t you say it’s worth it?”  
Reaching down, she takes his hand and places it on her hip, her breath stuttering when his thumb absently moves over the hollow there. They’re still figuring out this marriage, but this...well, this is one arena in which she thinks they’ve begun to get the hang of things.

“The silk is so fine I feel naked underneath my clothes,” she goes on. “And that’s craftsmanship you have to pay for.”

“Lizzie,” he says on a sigh, his voice gone rough, and she lifts her chin, sliding a thumb underneath her bra strap, pulling it from one shoulder.

Henry’s eyes lift to watch its progress, and Lizzie feels shivery and bold all at once as she pushes the cup down, baring one breast.

“They not only tailored it to my body, they even dyed the silk to match. Do you see?”  
That’s not _technically_ true. Lizzie had picked the pink because she thought it was pretty and had only noticed later how it was the same shade as her nipples.

But there’s no need for Henry to know that.

And when that long-fingered hand slides from her hip to cup her breast, fingers brushing her nipple, Lizzie swallows hard, her eyes nearly fluttering shut. 

“You should let yourself enjoy expensive things every once and awhile,” she manages to get out, and then he’s tugging her down onto his lap, the hotel bills forgotten, his mouth hot on her neck. 

“I mean to.”


End file.
